When Polly asked me to guest blog, I asked if she had a particular topic in mind. She said, no, but if I needed one, student teaching. Not that I'm one to follow directions, but she immediately got me thinking about what happened while I was student teaching. It had nothing to do with the students or teaching, but it's the first thing I remember about the whole experience of student teaching.
Now I've written a good deal about my teaching experiences, student teaching and official teaching. There's really not a tremendous difference between the two, except when you're student teaching, rather than getting paid, you have to pay to teach. You work all day teaching, go to class at night, and then have to work weekends to support yourself. It's a semester of absolute hell. The restaurant I was waitressing at kept putting my on doubles and I had to prep for classes for the next week over the weekend too. I had to go in one day and demand they take the doubles off my schedule immediately. I was about ready to have a mental break from reality.
There was a group of about eight of us, all women, that were student teaching in English that semester. They place us all at different schools in the state. They try to place you not too far from where you live, and you get placed with a teacher who has requested a student teacher. There may be other considerations. I don't know what they are. One other woman in the group and myself were placed at the same school, different teachers, but same department.
This other woman, what should I call her, hmm, Kendall, let's say, I didn't know very well. She actually grew up in the same city as me, went to the same high school, but was at least four years ahead of me, which put her in her mid-twenties. This petite blonde was at school every morning with her hair perfectly curled, make-up flawless, tailored suit, heels, manicure. She obviously wasn't waitressing weekends to support herself like I was. I really couldn't figure out what the hell she was doing in the teaching program. She looked like she should be at a country club husband shopping.
Out of the blue, Kendall showed up at my house early one morning asking me to play alibi for her boyfriend if he called me. This was truly bizarre. I didn't realize she even knew where I lived. I'd mentioned it to her briefly, but didn't think she'd know it specifically enough to show up, nor did I think she'd want to. Her boyfriend never called, and I didn't ask what she'd been doing to need an alibi for the night, though I'd agreed to give her one, more out of shock than anything else. It's not like this woman was my friend, just a classmate.
A few weeks later, she was gone from the high school. It took me a few days to notice. I was so wrapped up in lessons, classes and work, I barely lifted my nose from the grind stone. When I asked my supervising teacher, he said she'd been moved to another placement. He didn't offer more of an explanation, and I didn't really think it was my place to ask for one. I pieced the story together from the other women in my teaching group and what I overheard in the teacher's lounge. Kendall had started dating the vice principal. This man was widowed, so it's not like she was having an affair with him. He was, however, very newly widowed, and twice her age. The teachers at the school were outraged, not only over how inappropriate the whole situation was, but over the amount of attention and supervision he had been providing to her.
When I started subbing the following semester and landed back at the same school for the first time, Kendall was there subbing too. The teachers were livid. Kendall would never sub at their school again, you could bet on that.
I have no idea what happened to Kendall, if the relationship with the VP lasted for any amount of time. I'd be shocked if she were still teaching. She appeared the type of woman that went to college to find a husband rather than a career.
I've never understood these relationships between couples with a generation between them. Is it daddy issues, gold digging? I just couldn't imagine being married to a man in his fifties. My dad is in his fifties. I mean, how do you get past the ewww factor?
Recent Comments